


Aftershocks

by KieranHawke612



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parenting, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Drowning, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Questioning, Recovery, Slow Burn, Strong Language, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 10:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30087915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KieranHawke612/pseuds/KieranHawke612
Summary: The events ofLove Never Diestook a heavy toll on Erik and Raoul. Neither one can live without Christine, and neither one is fit to raise a child on their own. With the weight of her death on their shoulders and ten years of hatred on their minds, they're more unstable than ever, and need each other more than they may think. Can they work through their issues, or will they crack under the pressure?
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Kudos: 11





	Aftershocks

Raoul had always loved the sea. From that fateful day he ran into the waves to retrieve a scarf, to his days in the navy. Even when his brother's lungs were filled with the murky lake water beneath the Opera House, or the day he watched his wife fall limp in the arms of another on the Coney Island coast…

He had stared blankly as the life drained from her eyes, watched emotionlessly as the man that had tried to kill him so long ago embraced the child he called his own. The only thing tethering him to reality on that terrible day was the steady roaring of the waves.

He lost everything. His brother, his innocence, his wife… he had even lost his son in that stupid bet. Despite losing his business after the murder involving his two top acts, the Phantom had everything he ever wanted… 

So the Comte spent ten days getting his affairs in order; planning and attending the funeral, finalizing his paperwork, and leaving all of his possessions to the Phantom. The only thing left to do— the last condition in that  _ god-damned _ deal— was to leave. 

Yes, despite everything, Raoul still loved the sea. He found it fitting, then, that the sea should be the very place his story met its end. He sighed, breathing in the salty breeze and letting the rays of the sun warm his face, watching it rise from that very same pier where his life truly ended. He shut his eyes, let out a shaky breath— still tinged with the bitter stench of alcohol— and stepped off the pier.

The water felt cool and crisp against his skin, sobering his mind and tearing mercilessly into his senses. His instincts begged him to climb to the surface, to do whatever it took to survive, but he tried to ignore them. The pressure filled his head as he held his breath, and he took a moment to steady his nerves before letting go.

He opened his mouth, letting the cold, salty water invade his lungs, the pressure draining from his head as saltwater was exchanged with air. Despite the cold water, the panic settling into his mind, and the burning in his lungs, he felt calm. Peaceful. Opening his eyes, he saw the first rays of the sun through the waves, filling the sea with a gorgeous golden light. He only saw it for a moment before his vision began to fade, death looming nearby.

He shut his eyes, imagining the welcoming arms of his Christine, the embrace of his brother Philippe. He smiled, thinking that perhaps their last moments were as serene as his. He longed to see them again, burning tears mixing in with the surrounding water as he tried to imagine what it would be like in the afterlife. He could have sworn he heard his brother calling his name as his senses faded, reaching out to him, trying to find his way to them.

He could almost feel their arms around him, pulling him up into the light… and suddenly it was over.

He was pulled to shore, coughing and hacking until his throat was raw, the remaining salt making his lungs burn like hell. The morning air felt oppressive, seeping into his damp skin and clothes as he curled in on himself, barely registering what was happening as he readjusted to breathing air.

The longer he remained on land, the clearer things became. He was shivering, tears burning in his eyes and down his face as he stared blankly ahead, a warm weight gently settled around his shoulders. He heard yelling to his left, and blearily turned his head to the source of the noise. Erik was kneeling beside him,  _ fuming. _ His tirade fell on deaf ears, though, as Raoul began to piece together what happened, hatred and bile rising in his throat as the Phantom continued to shout.

“What the hell were you thinking?! Are you truly so selfish that you would abandon your own son? Do you really despise yourself enough to surrender your own life?!”

“Oh, what do you care?! You only call Gustave  _ mine _ when it's convenient for  _ you! _ As far as I'm concerned, he's  _ your _ son!” He scoffed, spitting the remaining taste of vomit from his mouth. “You won! I finally give you what you  _ always _ wanted and you stop me? Are you so determined to make me miserable that I can't find peace even in death?!”

“Is that what you think this is about? You really think I'd still want you dead because of some petty rivalry?!”

“You tried to strangle me just last week!”

“Well I… I didn't—  _ ugh! _ Look, we both made stupid decisions. We were selfish, blinded by love… but that's in the past now. Besides, do you really want to end your life just because you lost your precious  _ Christine? _ Well, you're not the only one that lost her!” The phantom huffed, voice cracking at the words, taking a moment to compose himself before continuing. “Gustave just lost his  _ mother _ . And whether you like it or not, he still sees  _ you _ as his father. He  _ needs _ you, and you're of no help to him at the bottom of the ocean!”

“How am I supposed to be a father to him?! I've spent the past ten years trying to drink away the feeling of a rope around my neck, trying to erase the sound of my brother choking on his last words from my mind! I wasn't there! I don't know the first thing about parenting!”

“And you think this will help?! That leaving him with me is the only viable option? I only made that deal with you because I thought  _ she _ would still be here to help me!”

Raoul stared at the ghost in stunned silence, watching the tears flood his amber eyes. He wasn't wearing his mask, and his usually well put together suit was thrown together haphazardly. It was as if he'd left in a hurry… He must have seen the note Raoul left and ran to the pier to stop him.

Erik let out a weary sigh, pulling his jacket tighter around the shaken Comte and helping him get to his feet, pulling him away from the water. Now that Raoul was closer, he noticed that the Phantom was shivering as well, his teeth barely chattering in his ear. 

"Please, Raoul, this isn't… this isn't what Christine would want."

Raoul stopped, glaring up at the Phantom in disgust and hatred.

“How  _ dare _ you use her name against me—”

“You know that I'm right, Comte! She would want you to stay and take care of Gustave; she would want you to be  _ happy _ . So don't you  _ dare _ let her down by taking the coward's way out!” Erik's grip around his waist tightened, his face flushing a furious red as he yelled. As much as he would never admit it, Raoul knew that the ghost was right. “Now I am going to take you back to your room, and you are going to sober up and talk to your son.”

“Oh, come on, I don't need to—”

“It has been  _ ten days _ since he last saw you— aside from you running to and from the bar— and he just saw his own mother  _ die _ , so I think it's best you  _ speak _ to him for once without the stench of booze on your breath! Do I make myself clear?”

“I suppose you make a good point…” Raoul sighed, stumbling into the resort dejectedly, the Phantom holding him steady on the walk to his room.

“Now just… take a quick bath, I'll get you something to eat and some water.” Erik muttered, grimacing at the state of the room— empty bottles and half eaten meals strewn about the place, curtains drawn to where almost no light could get in, sheets and blankets on the floor— as he gently led the Comte to slump on his bed. “I'll be nearby if anything happens, but try not to hurt yourself.  _ Please _ .”

“And how do I know you won't poison me?”

“Well then I suppose you'll get what you wanted, and I'll be a fool for getting myself all wet just to save a man I meant to kill.” The Phantom scoffed, his eye-roll practically palpable, even with his back turned. Raoul opened his mouth to protest, but the door had already been shut, the ghost halfway to the kitchen, the distinct clinking of pots and pans soon the only noise in the apartment.

He shuffled to his suitcase, pulling out a relatively clean set of clothes and making his way to the bathroom.

He sunk into the tub with a sigh, letting the water seep into his bones and warm him to his core, his skin stinging as he scrubbed himself clean. A dark creature in the back of his mind urged him to let himself sink to the bottom, quietly slip into the abyss where his love was waiting; it'd certainly be more pleasant than dying in the cold, unforgiving heart of the sea. Another part of his consciousness conjured images of cages and torture, and all the horror of what the Phantom would do to him if he tried once more to escape the arduous life ahead of him. So he simply sat, curled in the corner of the bath, trying not to think of what terrible, empty life was waiting for him.

Not long after the water had started to turn cold, a gentle knock resounded from the door, the Comte drawing in a startled breath in response.

“Monsieur de Chagny? Are you alright?”

“I—I'm fine! Just a bit… distracted…”

“Well, your breakfast is on the bed, and it's probably nearly gone cold by now.”

“Oh, right… thank you, I suppose.”

"Now get out here before I walk in there and  _ drag _ you out."

" _ Alright _ , I'm getting up." He muttered, dragging himself out of the tub and mumbling to himself half-formed sentences and unfinished thoughts to fill the emptiness of silence hanging in the air.

When he emerged from the bathroom, his clothes haphazardly thrown together, he was shocked to find the Phantom kneeling on the floor, throwing all of the bottles and trash into a bin he had brought from the kitchen.

"You're… cleaning?"

"No, I thought these bottles would be perfect for my next production." He hissed, sarcasm dripping from the words. "Of course I'm cleaning, you idiot. Unlike you, I can't stand living in a trash heap."

"What do you mean,  _ living? _ This is  _ my _ room!"

"Which  _ I _ paid for, in the building  _ I _ own, and a room that I  _ will _ be keeping an eye on to ensure you don't try to drown yourself in booze again! Dealing with you sober is a strenuous enough exercise as is."

The Comte flinched back at the outburst, causing the Phantom to pinch the bridge of his nose— that is, the nose of his mask, which he must have put on sometime during Raoul's bath— and heave a sigh.

"Look, I know we have a…  _ complicated _ history, and I know you have no shortage of reasons not to trust me, but I am truly trying my best to help you, Vi—" He paused, briefly adjusting his composure at the slip-up. "Or,  _ Comte _ de Chagny."

"I'll try to remember that next time you insult me." Raoul deadpanned, eyeing the other man cautiously as he made his way towards the plate laid out for him. He hated to think it, but he quite felt like a mouse in a lion's den. Trapped and powerless, just waiting for the beast to strike. It was like he was being baited into the Opera Ghost's trap.

He sunk into the bed, turning his back on the Phantom and trying to ignore the oppressive weight of his presence as he poked gingerly at the strange dish. It was clearly some type of meat stew (served with a few slices of bread,) with an almost opaque yellowish broth, but the components looked like nothing he had ever seen before. Whatever meat was used to make it came in strange, almost alien textures, and he dreaded to think of what it could be. He cringed as possible explanations cycled through his head. Surely even the Phantom wouldn't stoop so low as to submit to cannibalism, right…? But again, this was the man that tried to enslave the woman he loved, and after ten years across the sea, who knows what the man could have resorted to?

"Uh, if you wouldn't mind me asking, what…  _ is _ this?"

" _ Kaleh pacheh. _ It's a Persian dish, and should help give you back your energy."

"What's in it?"

"Well… I would tell you, but then you probably wouldn't eat it. Just try it, I promise you'll be fine." His shoulders tensed at the vague answer, his heart in his throat as his brain anxiously searched for an answer that could explain it.

"Where's Gustave…?"

"Wha—  _ oh. _ Oh, that is  _ awful,  _ Raoul! It's sheep's head, ok?" The Phantom gagged, recoiling at the thought. "God, the fact you even  _ considered— _ what kind of monster do you take me for?!"

"Well, I don't know what's happened in the past ten years! You could've started a cult or something for all I know!"

"Oh,  _ please, _ you know how bad I am with people. No, this is just something I learned to make from a… an old friend, I suppose. Just try it, it isn't as bad as it seems."

Raoul cringed, gingerly poking at the components with the stiff edge of the bread before deciding he didn't particularly care enough anymore to turn down the odd meal, biting into the broth-soaked corner with a huff. It actually… wasn't gross? Despite having been pressed against what may have been a sheep brain, it actually tasted rather good.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it, Vicomte?"

"Shut up."


End file.
